Monday, May 17, 2010

The High Road: Of Missiles and Missionaries

There was once a time when following professional European road racing in the United States, once had to piece together an idea of what was happening through a combination of cycling-themed periodicals, spotty and infrequent mainstream media coverage, big, clunky, book-shaped objects known as "VHS tapes," and hearsay. This amalgam was akin to something you might pull out of a clogged bathtub drain--a fuzzy and ambiguous clump which, if you're really lucky, might contain the odd gem. Finding a particularly good Graham Watson photograph, for example, might be the equivalent of discovering a pearl earring that someone lost while showering.

Now, of course, we have ready access to races like the Giro d'Italia, about which I have been "blogging" for Universal's "Giro Insider" section. While watching yesterday's Giro stage, I mused to myself about this abundance of race coverage, as well as about Thomas Voeckler, who played a starring role in yesterday's breakaway and about whom I wrote in yesterday's blog. To be perfectly honest, I'm not a Thomas Voeckler fan. He's sort of the anti-Jens Voigt in that, while both undertake long and ultimately fruitless breakaways, Voigt seems to be enjoying himself whereas Voeckler rides with his shoulders hunched up and a look of disgust on his face--he always looks like he's plunging a particularly foul toilet. Or, to put it another way, Voigt seems like the kind of friendly neighbor who might happily come over and help you move a sofa, whereas Voeckler's like some put-upon dinner guest who gets impatient as you try to open the wine, grabs the bottle himself, gets way too aggressive with the corkscrew, and covers himself in Pinot Noir.

Indeed, so fruitful are these times for fans of professional road racing that, in addition to the Giro d'Italia, we also have the Tour of California--which, thanks to the fact that the Earth is round and spins in a predictable direction, follows the Giro after a polite interval. Yesterday's stage, of course, was won by Mark "The Man Missile" Cavendish, and this was no surprise. What was surprising, though, was the disembodied hand featured in this photograph of his bike:

If you're wondering what the hand is doing, it is picking stickers off the rim because Cavendish likes his wheels to be "all black:"Most of us know by now that Cavendish can be cocky, but I was surprised (perhaps naively) to learn that he would go so far as to demand that his mechanic actually pick the stickers off his wheels because he doesn't like the way they look. Even more surprising is that some fan would want them afterwards, as if they were a pair of Rihanna's panties:

If I were in that mechanic's place and somebody approached me for the stickers, I'd simply turn the entire bike over to him and say, "You want 'em? You peel 'em." I'm sure the fan would happily oblige. In any case, Cavendish did win, and in the end I suppose that's what mattered. Unfortunately, though, we were deprived one of his wacky victory salutes:

"I was going to celebrate three wins this year [with a special salute], but I couldn't do it, so I just did a normal celebration," he said.

I'm not sure what prevented Cavendish from executing his three win-themed salute, though it could be that the extra arm he had planned to grow for the occasion failed to sprout. Presumably, after a long day in the saddle Cavendish returned to the hotel and took a hot shower--but only after making the sticker-peeling mechanic pick all the pubic hairs off the soap.

It would appear that, increasingly, fixed-gear bicycles are the vehicles of choice for "slaying" missionary work. This is hardly surprising, because once anything becomes becomes big enough somebody creates a Christian version, just like once a soft drink gets popular enough the manufacturers inevitably offer it in "diet." What is surprising, though, is that the Mormons are taking to fixed-gears. If anything, I would think the single gear ratio would be at odds with their polygamist lifestyle, and that they'd instead be drawn to derailleur drivetrains.

Clearly, though, the quasi-"rough and tumble," studiously disheveled, and now comically dated fixed-gear crews of the mid-aughts such as "MASHSF" are giving way to new crews who prefer to lay down "mad skidzzz" in the service of the Lord. We've already seen the "Burrito Project" (arguably the MASHSF of fixie missionaries), as well as the "fixionary" who went to Mexico because God told him to, and now it seems that wherever you look a new rider is turning to Christ:

This is the ideal bicycle to ride as you distribute burritos to the homeless, hand out huaraches to heathens, or simply pray earnestly and refrain from masturbation. "Through the love of Jesus Christ," explains the website, "this ministry has thrived and continues to offer the same low fixed prices for its bikes, regardless of production costs." In other words, it's like getting your fixie straight from the Holy Spirit (via Taiwan). We've seen Bikes Direct, but this is bikes directly from the Lord. You'll look great as you straddle your Christ:

(Christ Cycles owners listen with distaste as their bikeless and godless friend explains how to administer a "double handjob.")

According to their website, Christ Cycles is even the official fixie sponsor to a Christian metal band called The Chariot:

There is no music more intense, dorky, and anguished than that born of the eternal struggle not to touch one's own genitals or the genitals of others outside the union of holy heterosexual wedlock. I suspect this tension is at the heart of all the screaming and distorted guitars, and that the group is a few beers and a a single collective (and cathartic) wank away from becoming one of those new banjo-toting urban folk bands.

But the real danger of abstaining from sexual gratification, repressing one's natural urges, and living one's life in a religious context is that you can eventually find yourself losing all self-control. One day you're a chaste warrior riding your Christ, and the next day you're grabbing ass on the Williamsburg Bridge:

If mormon missionaries spinning on deep v's is Not a sign of the fixed gear apocalypse, then I don't know what could be. Don't wait for a resurected Major Taylor to rain hell fire and boiling chain lube down on you, flee for the hills now!

I went downtown to get my (epic) coffee and was confused by all the tents and barricades. There also was an inflatable podium stage, and many, many images of one Mr "Lance Armstrong". One of these I am reporting as being GIANT. His nose was the size of a standing regular man, or 13.45 babies/what have you.

Incredibly, there are apparently new cutting edge crabon fibre cycles that can actually propel you into the stratosphere, and they are on display in many tents.

Later, I will return to get an (epic) burroto, and assume things will be really Giro West.

@Paul Bowen"from whence" clearly is a pleonasm, but that in/of itself doesn't 'rule' it out as an acceptable usage, especially not when sanctioned (as you note) by good writers. The redundancy likely emerged in late ME/EME in order to reinforce the adverbial meaning of 'whence' (der. <OE) consequent on the loss of marked case endings -- here, originally genitive [which case was not, in OE, restricted to 'possessive' in the way we think of it].

Just 3 more questions:Mormans can't ride in cars, but they can text on their cell phones?andWhy is the Morman wearing a helmet on his ass and not his head? Is that the elusive "fucking helmet" mentioned later in the post?

I'm Mormon. I love being made fun of just like I love a good hand-job. There are polygamists out there, but they aren't Mormons. Love the photo though, too bad the "magic underwear" doesn't magically prevent you from being stupid and getting hit by a car.

I like the instigated helmet debate because for some reason it evokes a strong reaction in people who other wise are impassive. I do wear a helmet because the last time I endo'd onto my head I heard the loudest sound of my life and that includes My Bloody Valentine in 1989. Afterwords, I crawled around on my hands and knees drooling and disoriented (more so after the endo.) So, it's personal preference.

Out of curiosity I checked out the ChristCycle website. They had no specs for their bikes, only an order form and an expectation of being sent $300 (w/S&H) for a bike.

I emailed and politely asked for some basic info, and received a quick and fairly unpleasantly worded response that if I cared about things like the quality of parts on my bicycle I should check out something like Republic Bikes (???).

I responded to let them know all I really wanted was some basic info. At that point they got even ruder, but did let me know that the specs are basically the same as Republic Bikes. Also that ChristCycles offers free repairs (not mentioned on their site), but have never actually needed to give any repairs (also not mentioned on their site).

I guess if you want a bottom of the line, brightly colored single speed from unpleasant people, and the self-satisfaction that jesus is somehow involved, ChristCycles is the way to go.

I confess, think it might be a bit like one of those impromptu pacelines that occur during club rides. God knows--ChristCycles, please excuse the expression, I still suck blogtacular wheel, if I catch you runnin' slow enough. Other times, I just blogtacularly suck.

The video feed from the Giro is slightly better than smoke signals and almost as clear as a telegraph - watch with a wallet in your mouth so you don't swallow your tongue. I used to tell all my friends about Ronnie James Dio, Hi-res author photographs, Scarponi, and Anton Szandor LaVey. Now I wish I needn't

The Moroni Missionaries are the worst bike salmon of all. Or worserer yet, sidewalk riders. It's like Joseph Smith's magic golden plates told them to ride there when translated from the original Egyptian.

The idea of christians, moromons, and fixiedouches being like minded makes sense on all levels.They all blindly follow a rulebook without any notion of common sense, critical thinking skills, intellect or true individualist/ independant thinking.One interesting thing a former mormon told me was that mormons are thouroughly trained in depth on world religions so they can out debate you at your doorstep...and hopefully convert you.True.

g - Could it be he's protecting a rabbit/other small mammal stuffed in his backpack? I suspect he's combined the texting-while-biking with the helmet-attached-but-not-to-head look to prove his faith in the good Lord NOT to punish obvious stupidity.

I didn't say polygamy was outmoded (the millions of cheating spouses should know that); but the assumption that Mormons (or should I say only Mormons) are polygamists (whether contemporaneous or serial) is outmoded.

I have a picture you must see but cannot for the life of my Luddite self work out how to attach it here. Send instructions, please.

Secondly, I've been in your city for a month on a sojourn and I feel compelled to put you right on a number of matters. Most important of these is the fact that it is actually very easy and fairly safe to 'bike' in New York. Honest.

I think you guys have become like the frog in the pot of water who doesn't notice that the water is slowly heating up, as he becomes accustomed in his cold-blooded fashion to each incremental increase. No?

Cars in the bike lanes. Pfa! Look at the second part of that sentence. Shoaling at intersections? Ha! What, some gratuitous trackstanding by a hipster with withered Playstation generation legs?

Americans seem to drive enormous cars and this makes your lanes spacious. I have a hard time convincing NYers of this, but motorists here are actually pretty considerate - they stop for pedestrians and have frequently refrained from cutting me off. 'm not used to this.

I can't comment on bike salmon, except as a pedestrian and I'm still confused about which way to look when I cross the road so it's always chancey.

An experience of mine illustrates a curious cycling paradox: a couple of weeks ago I was headed down the Hudson River path when a light turned red for me and a cab was about to cross. I stopped. Fair enough. The hipster behind me didn't, or more likely couldn't, and rear-ended me. I landed on my knee, acquiring what I call my Manhattan Tattoo. And after all that the cab still waited for us. Odd.

I will concede though that even in my country with our crumbling infrastructure and corrupt administration, our road surfaces are in slightly better condition. Parts are pretty broken up here.

Hey!I'm one of the "Christian girls".. All the posts are hilarious! I would never buy one of his bikes. I don't ride bikes and I'm not even Christian! Just helping out a "friend" I suppose.. Anyways, hilarious!!

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About Me

While I love cycling and embrace it in all its forms, I'm also extremely critical. So I present to you my venting for your amusement and betterment. No offense meant to the critiqued. Always keep riding!